


To Bend the Strings

by briaeveridian



Series: Modern AUs [2]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Ben POV, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Modern AU, Modern Era, One Shot, One True Pairing, Pining, Plot What Plot, Soft Ben Solo, There are character deaths but they are in the past, ben as woodworker DONT GET ME STARTED, let the classical music healing begin, rey as violinist is also pretty amazing, this is Ben as Paterson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25901377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/briaeveridian/pseuds/briaeveridian
Summary: Ben is a woodworker who enjoys his solitary routine. Rey is a violinist hoping to earn tips in the park. When Ben hears her tuning up during his lunch hour, his runs away instantly. The pain of the past could keep him from ever hearing Rey's solos, but they may be exactly what he needs to heal.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Modern AUs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918042
Comments: 13
Kudos: 34





	To Bend the Strings

**Author's Note:**

> To bend the strings  
> Takes time and practice  
> What notes do we begin?  
> To bend the wood  
> Takes focus and precision  
> How shall bodies fit their skin?  
> For you I'll bend entirely and wait for love within

The sun is sharp. It penetrates Ben’s skin and he winces. For a moment, his eyes remain closed and he watches the red splatter-waves of light through lids. It mesmerizes, a tapestry undulating and relaxing.

A sound pulls Ben outside of himself again. It is of tuning strings and fingers warming up. They are familiar and triggering, unease coursing through his limbs. Despite the heat he almost shivers from the emotional surge.

He glances to the left of the park and spots a young woman playing a violin, a cap on the ground for tips.  _ Her technique is unpolished but her verve is commendable _ , Ben thinks as he gathers his things. 

Despite his immediate impulse to listen to her play, sitting through a violin performance is entirely too much for him. Like hydrogen peroxide in a fresh wound. He rests his bag on his shoulder and heads back to his office, head down and brow pinched.

Her notes pursue Ben on the wind, as if the instrument itself demands to be heard, witnessed by him alone.

___________________________________  
  


The sandwich he made for lunch is incredibly dissatisfying. Or perhaps his appetite still hasn’t returned. Either way, his mouth refuses to work further on the act of chewing. His jaw clenches, teeth grinding and lips pursed in disgust. 

Glancing around the park, Ben notices how the trees have begun to bend around the shadow of the building, limbs twisting up to find the light. Whipping out his notepad, he sketches a curved chair, organic and sinewy. Dead wood still seeking the light. 

Ben could get started on that chair next week, once he finishes up the current commission. His hand-made furniture business is slowly gaining awareness and prestige, even though he resists advertising, social media, and self-promotion. So really, the fact that he has orders at all is a miracle. _Thank goodness for word of mouth_ ** _,_** Ben thinks, glancing around his shop.

Each piece he pours himself into. The process of design takes over like a fever. Carving a melody out of the wood is his favorite part. Finishing touches are bitter sweet, for he knows it will be time to pass it along to its proper owner, not him. His hands craft only to release to someone else. He has a file of of photos, documenting each one he has completed. Though he knows it’s dorky, it’s surprisingly easy to not judge himself for doing so.

A flutter of movement catches his eye and he looks up. The violin woman is walking across the park, case in hand. A floral dress flows around her in the breeze.

Perhaps sensing his gaze, the woman looks over at him. She offers a partial smile and continues walking. Ben looks down quickly at his notebook again, hoping she didn’t notice the blush creeping across his skin.

_Maybe I should give the violin a chance today_ , Ben thinks, working his jaw. He keeps his face buried in his notepad a bit longer, letting her fully prepare. By the end, he is just faking his sketches, holding himself back from watching her until the notes begin.

When they do, the song strikes him as hauntingly familiar. It conjures memories of playing outside, accompanied by laughter and lemonade. His father pushing him on a swing. His mother working in the garden. The solo reverberating through the branches.

It’s too much.

Ben shoots up, awkwardly grasping at his bag and pencil, trying to stuff everything away while also attempting to escape the song.

This time, the song stops briefly as he leaves the park, as if she wondered why he was leaving.

___________________________________

Ben has prepared himself this time. He sits in the shade of a tree at the entrance to the park. It should be far enough away for him to avoid hearing her notes, while also still getting a glimpse of her. 

Today he brought a salad with sliced almonds and cranberries. It’s a good change of pace and he’s impressed by his ability to step out of routine (at least partially). The breeze today is warmer, signaling the approach of summer.

Ben exhales. Summer in the city was not his favorite thing. Too much heat, sweat, and suffocation. If only he could go to his parents’ house upstate. That’s the only place he feels completely relaxed and at peace.  Well, I used to , Ben thinks.

He sees her then, hair pulled back, shorts and a loose shirt adorning her frame. He considers going to her, explaining why he just can’t make himself stay for her playing. Maybe he should at least give her a tip.  _ I wonder if she makes enough money doing this _ _ , _ he thinks idly, eyes glued to her as she walks past several people into the park.

She doesn’t see him today.

He’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed. He’s always prefered to be an observer, to take in details and experiences instead of fully integrate himself. But the smile she’d given him had buoyed his spirits, even when the song he’d heard threatened to collapse him.

Of course, as a tall, awkward man, Ben knows observing could easily be seen as gawking, which is understandably creepy and unsettling. So he worked for years to shift this tendency, this alarming habit. He has made progress.

But for some reason, this woman counteracts all of his efforts. She pulls his gaze along magnetically, tugging him into standing, leaving his bag and following her.

Maintaining distance for several steps, Ben watches her ponytail bob as her flats hit the pavement. Then, like the breaking of a spell, he whips around and darts back to the entrance.  _ If you can’t even listen to her play, you don’t deserve to be anywhere near her _ _.  _ He bites his bottom lip, breath strained.

Leaning against a rock wall, Ben watches the leaf shadows shift around his feet. Emotions fight for dominance inside him: curiosity about her, a desire to know her, a fear of getting close to someone, a sense of unworthiness. He chokes on the tumult, berating himself for expecting anything from this life.  _ Just be satisfied with what you have. _

_ But what if I’m meant to have more? _

There are two sides within him, warring.

Suddenly, a powerful determination comes over him. Like a force pushing him forward, Ben commits himself.

Tomorrow, he will sit at his old bench and listen to her play. Each and every song, to the last affecting note.

___________________________________

But she doesn’t come. He can’t believe it at first.  _ Maybe I just missed her in the crowd _ _ , _ he thinks feverishly. He walks around the park several times, looking for her in different spots. 

He waits until long past his regular lunch time ends. He lingers until mid-afternoon, fists balled and regret tightening his stomach.

_ _ _ You missed her. You are foolish, childish, afraid. You are pathetic. _ __ The tirade against only leaves him exhausted.

He purses his lips together, distress and resentment coiling around the base of his spine and up into his shoulders.

Eventually, he walks back to his shop, where one look at the chair taking shape makes tears trip down his cheeks.

___________________________________

She hasn’t come for weeks. That initial determination has started to fade and the sting of missed opportunity lessens. 

He imagines himself as seaglass, edges smoothed and pigment clouded, his entirety subdued. He is resigned to take up this tiny speck of beach, worn and buried by the onslaught of tide.

Even still, something had sparked within him after seeing her. It is a dull little spark, barely recognizable. But it is so foreign that he immediately noticed and stoked it. The spark grows into something sizable, a feeling outside of himself.

That night, Ben takes his record player out of storage. It’s a beautiful old thing. Either from memories or dust, his eyes water and he has to sit down. In the box are a few of the records he’d been given. They were worn, showing scratches that confirmed the number of times they played. They brought him so much and left him with so little.

The record he picks is selected to maximize the pain.  _ Maybe I need to just rip the bandaid off. Plunge into the frigid water. Leap from the airplane _ _.  _ Ben’s lungs refuse to pull in air for a moment and he slaps an open hand to his chest.

Excruciatingly slow and deliberate breaths bring him back to himself. His body sets up the record. His ears take in the song. And he crumples to the floor, sobs accompanying the violin solo as it invades and overpowers.

___________________________________

The next day, he takes his record player to the shop. _Perhaps_ _I’ll become immune if I just build up my resiliency_ _,_ he thinks distantly. It sounds more like masochism, if he’s being honest with himself.

Propping the door open for airflow, Ben works the whole day letting the music overtake his space. He realizes it is a most natural thing to finally look into the depth of grief and confront its tangles.  _ Such knots only become more hardened over time _ . That's what his mother used to say.

He refuses to be that intractable person anymore. His parents saw more in him and he would not lose that. The new chair inspired by the sun-seeking tree feels like a gift to them, one that he will keep for the rest of his days.

A voice startles him and he looks up. At once, his legs are straight and his arms are limp, shock arresting his thoughts.

“It’s you,” he breathes. She doesn’t hear him.

“Hi, I heard the music. That’s one of my favorites. Bach’s Partita No. 2,” she adds. Ben is unable to conjure more words.

“Can I come in? That’s a beautiful chair.” She walks toward him. He can’t tell if she recognizes him.

Ben nods his head, long after she’s entered the shop. The space is brightened by her and he takes a step back. “Thank you,” he finally croaks out.

“The curves are lovely,” she says, eyes tracing the shape. 

For some reason, Ben replies, “You can touch it, if you want.” He blanches but she’s hyper focused on the piece of furniture. Her fingers gingerly reach out and a smile takes her mouth, a curve to match the chair.

“Maybe someday I can afford one of your handmade chairs, Ben Solo. My friend raves about hers.”

“Your friend is a client?” The thought of it is strange to him.

“Yes. Once I heard the music outside, I recognized your name. And I recognized your face from the park. I have to say, the chair Rose has is easily the most comfortable one I’ve ever sat in.” She smiles. “I’ll have to tell her I met you.”

“What is your name?” Ben asks, louder than intended.

“Rey,” she replies, a shy look in her eyes.

“I’ve wanted to hear you play in the park. But you haven’t been there for weeks.” Ben worries he might be oversharing but her body language relaxes him.

“Oh,” Rey says, her eyes narrowing slightly. “My violin mentor invited me to visit her home in Vermont. I don’t get to see her often enough so I figured I would stay awhile.” Ben isn’t sure what to say next.

“I was in the park today. I’ll be there tomorrow. If you want to come by.” She appears to hold her breath as he works his jaw.

“Okay, I’ll be there.” Ben attempts a smile but it feels as though his face has turned to rubber.

She shifts her weight, glancing at the chair again and around his shop. He colors at the state of his space. Usually he has time to clean up before clients arrive.  _ But she’s not a client. Not yet at least. Maybe she could be something more... _ The thought sends sparks of hope branching through him.

Rey nods a farewell, moving toward the door. “I’ll see you then.”

Ben follows her to the door, throwing his hand out to wave as she looks over her shoulder. He forcefully closes his door and sinks to the floor, a heat smoldering in his chest.

___________________________________

Ben’s whole body is thrumming, electrical currents dancing along his veins and skin. There’s too much frenetic energy. He skips coffee, walks to work rapidly, humming anxiously or excitedly or perhaps both.

Lunch time can’t come soon enough. He puts on decidedly not classical music as he cleans up the shop, organizing paperwork at his desk, and obsessively arranging his woodworking tools. Minutes slink by, the turn of the sky ever so tedious.

Finally, he decides it’s early but not obnoxiously early to walk to the park. He forgets his lunch, running back to retrieve it, and not minding the stares as he weaves through the crowd. 

As he moves, Ben is without weight, feeling the air particles shift underneath to support him as he glides through space. He ponders if his father ever felt that about his mother.  I feel giddy _ ,  _ he realizes with a jolt.

Back at his old park bench, Ben fiddles with his keys and wrangles his hair.  _ Sitting is too much, you need to move _ and he bolts up. He begins walking the perimeter of the park, focusing on his breath, letting it take its time through his body.

Like a lightning strike, Ben hears the notes. He must have lost track of time because she’s already here and already playing. And somehow, she’s playing  _ that. That song. The most heart-wrenching piece she possibly could. _

He breaks into a sweat and quickens his pace, following the string of notes.

She stands, eyes closed, bow slicing across near the bridge, fingers clenched white to bend the strings. Her rapture is exquisite. Rey’s whole body seems a harmony of note and muscle, cadence and blood. The song itself rips through him. But her playing heals him just as quickly.

It ends and he is in front of her, eyes spilling and chin trembling. It occurs to him this might freak her out. But he’s tired of waiting and overanalyzing and worrying. _Rey’s notes provide deeper solace than I have ever experienced_ _,_ he wants to passionately shout for all to hear.

Her eyes open and meet his. Rey is surprised at first then her features soften.

“Hi, Ben.” A tide breaks.

“That was my father’s favorite. Bruch’s Violin Concerto No. 1. He used to say it had the right mixture of drama and humor.” Ben smiles. “He was a mechanic but he not-so-secretly loved classical music. He would blast in his shop. He wanted me to learn violin. I always claimed my hands were too big. But really I was just scared of trying and not being good enough.” Ben is breathing hard. Rey's arms are at her sides, bow and violin lowered. She was listening intently.

“He died a few years ago. It was an accident. Plane crash. My mother never recovered. She died last year.” Ben has no idea why he shared all of this. Dread grabs a hold of him as he waits to see how Rey will respond.

“I’m so sorry. I lost my parents, too. It’s not easy to heal after such grief. The wounds become like concrete, heavy and hard to carry.” She sets her violin and bow down in their case. Then Rey tilts her head at him, knowing there was more and inviting him to go on.

He steps closer to her, surprisingly close. She blinks but doesn’t step away.

“So you understand.” Relief floods him. “Hearing that song, it was like you pulled my heart outside of my body. But it helped. Weirdly enough, it helped.” Ben smiled at her. “Thank you.”

He couldn’t read her face but her eyes were shining.

“You’re welcome.”

“Would you like to get a coffee? My treat, of course. And I’ll give you all my cash to make up for the missed tips.” She laughs and it feels like he is whole.

“Alright. Or maybe consider it a partial down payment for my future original Ben Solo chair.”

___________________________________

Some time later and Rey is draped over said chair, giving Ben his third violin lesson.

“Just take a breath, relax your fingers.” Ben grunts in response. This is going about as well as he anticipated. 

“This goddamn thing is so  _ small _ . If I breathe on it wrong it will break! How am I supposed to create any clean notes at all?” Ben rests the violin on his thigh, grimacing in frustration.

“Plenty of men with big fingers play violin.” Rey wiggles her eyebrows. ”You just want to give up.” She tosses a small pillow at him and smiles.

Deflecting easily, Ben throws an offended look at her but can’t manage to hold it for long.

“Alright, Mr. Solo. Let’s try again.”

Bringing the violin back to his chin, he tries the scale half-heartedly. The string squeeks unpleasantly and he slumps.

“Adjust your position!” Rey says, mock impatience in her voice. Ben’s focus slips even further.

He places the violin and bow quickly onto the table and nearly leaps toward her.

“I think I know exactly how I’d like to adjust my position,” Ben says in a low voice, looking at her pointedly. Bending down, his lips meet her smiling face.

“Maybe we should just stick to what we’re both good at,” Rey replies, pressing into his kiss. He scoops her up and sighs into her opening mouth.

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea of Ben being a furniture maker from an interview with Adam Driver where he talks about his interest in furniture :)
> 
> ✨Thank you for reading ✨ 
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://briaeveridian.tumblr.com/) where my SW obsession lives aggressively.


End file.
